Vigilante, Detective in the Plainclothes
by How Many Seconds
Summary: Jones has always aspired to be a detective. Ever since he met the teen turtles they have known this, they just didn't prepare themselves for the repercussions of such a job. A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows FanFiction(T/M)
1. Chapter I

**Authors Notes: **

**Disclaimer: These characters are _not_ my own****, they are distributed by Paramount Pictures under several production companies (including Nickelodeon Movies). No copyright infringement intended, no profit being made. **

**Rated T/M: for hints towards solving homicides(does not go into too much detail), crude language and self-neglect.**

**Based on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows, 2016 **

* * *

_Why would someone have a motive to commit such a heinous crime?_

Scratching his head, confusion and frustrations unquenchable: Jones store at the computer screen, the case notes nothing but a mere blur.

_Come on, Jones- focus- you're a detective now, not a corrections officer; time to think outside the box. _

Despite how hard he tried to focus, he wasn't surprised that he couldn't, he'd been sat in a similar position- staring at the screen, intently- for hours; he hadn't even allowed himself time to use the restroom or get something to eat. Yes, he understood this wasn't healthy but he wanted to solve this case, more than others he had had to solve; he had to protect the children involved, he had made a promise: a promise he couldn't break. He wouldn't allow people to become disappointed in him, no matter what happened he would solve this crime.

_The mother? It can't be the mother. A mother wouldn't make her children fatherless._ Jones shook his head, allowing his eyebrows to rise.

Would a mother allow her children to become fatherless? It wasn't an impossibility, it wasn't unheard of: he'd been trained with the utilisation of cases involving a parent murdering the other- it was a way of earning child support, benefits and insurance without a court struggle.

_Ok, question yourself- Jones- why? If their mother had committed such a crime, why would she feel it necessary to do so. The family already met all the requirements for free child support, benefits and insurance without a court struggle. There was no need to murder. _

Jones rubbed his temples, staring at the piles of evidence with little idea of what was happening or what had happened within that home throughout the murder. This case was _really_ starting to make his head quite sore, the left side of his head refusing to ease its throbbing; his headache had become so painful that it felt similar to when his opponents struck him across the head throughout hockey tournaments. However- no matter how hard he tried to solve the case- he was getting nowhere and he had no idea of whom needed to be convicted. There was a murderer living amongst those innocent and uninvolved within New York City and it was his responsibility to imprison them before they felt the need to murder others. However, his lack of knowing who had committed the murder prevented him from allowing police to make an arrest.

_Just five minutes; let yourself have a little break. _

Casey shook his head, wanting his thoughts to still: he _hated_ the amount of thoughts that raced throughout his head, they were each quite distracting. It made it quite difficult to focus upon a case, let alone attempt to solve it or convict someone of murdering another. The amount of shots he had observed throughout the previous hours were now mere ink upon paper and each time he attempted to use them as a support system in order to think of someone whom would have motive to commit murder he'd become even more confused than he was beforehand. Jones sighed, lowering his head within his hands: rubbing his eyes, the tiredness being overwhelming. No wonder he was unable to focus, he was losing himself within the case: he wasn't- adequately- caring for himself due to how much he desired to solve the crime. He was so lost within the case that he required several things in order to repair his own health: he required sustenance, he required sleep and he required the presence of friends. He'd become lonely since the case had been released: all he'd had for company throughout the previous months had been his colleagues and their worried words persuading him to continue with what he was trying to do. He'd become so lost that he hadn't even stuck to his hobbies of clearing the streets from those who needed a decent lesson taught: each night- instead of performing his duties as vigilante- he'd returned home and stared at words upon a screen.

_No, I need to focus. _

Casey chewed upon his lip, something he'd been doing for several minutes now- his lips wet with saliva, his lips dented with teeth marks- rolling his eyes in annoyance. This case was- really- starting to take its toll on the vigilante, he just wanted to return to how life was before: his thoughts had been quiet and settled beforehand, when he was prepared to sacrifice his job in order to vigilante. He was prepared to sacrifice everything just to ensure others were safe, now he hadn't even been outside to see if others needed him- he cared for those involved within the case and he needed it solved. It's not to say that he didn't enjoy his current job- as of course he did-he just wished it was a little less attention seeking, he wished he could still live without the guilt of knowing there was a murderer living amongst those innocent within New York. Despite his profession, it had always been his responsibility to protect others: he couldn't allow himself to abandon such a case when he had people to protect, the children involved needed him.

Alas, with this being his current profession he had little time to vigilante- he hadn't even thought about it since- and he was likely beginning to lose his talents being a certified ass-kicker: it had been a long time since he'd cleaned the streets of scum, it had been a long time since he'd sat upon roof tops awaiting the arrival of those needing a decent lesson taught, and it had been a long time since he'd utilised his hockey equipment. He'd only been to one or two hockey matches since receiving his new profession and his equipment was now within a cupboard, collecting dust. Casey Jones- once-was certified ass-kicker, who used to fight alongside four ninja mutant turtles on a regular basis- was becoming a domestic detective who stayed home, alone: without feeling the need for sustenance, without feeling the need for company. He thought he'd become used to this- he'd been taught that being a detective was an important job: one that involved countless responsibilities, one that involved ones entire willpower and one that tended to be quite tiring- but he didn't expect it to be so difficult and so underachieving.

He required a scientific genius to solve something so mind muddling.

_Wait._

Allowing his eyes to- finally- divert from the crime notes, Jones allowed himself to peek at the small clock within the corner of the HP computer screen. 2pm: meaning it was still quite alight outside, meaning it was still quite unsafe for the turtle teens to make a home call- let alone go topside, out of the sewers- even if the teens did happen to be ninjas: they still had the disadvantage of being quite sizeable and recognisable amongst a vast town of humans. With the skies being alight it was very unlikely that they could cross several streets without being seen.

_I need Donatello._

Jones placed two fingers at each side of his mouth, rubbing the skin- softly- eyes switching to and from the HP computer screen and his mobile phone.

_We need Donatello, he can help. He _will_ help, he enjoys such things; I'm sure he wouldn't mind helping, he'd do better than I have._

However, the fact that the skies were alight outside still troubled him; if he asked the turtles for assistance, they'd very likely be seen by passer-by's; it was something they couldn't risk, especially not for his sake: helping solve a crime was something trivial compared to their existences being discovered. Not only that but there was also the possibility that them coming could and would- definitely- cause concern amongst the team- their concerns adding to the concern he was already receiving from his colleagues- and that was something that he couldn't let happen.

Jones thought for several minutes, throwing his hands upon his head- rubbing his scalp, hard with frustration: something he soon regretted, considering how sore his head currently was- not knowing what else to do.

_That's it. I need Donatello's help, I need Donatello's sweet scientific genius. _

Jones shrugged, collecting his hockey equipment from the cupboard- dusting the dust from the object- before placing each of his belongings that revolved around the case into the same bag. If he required Donatello's assistance- he wouldn't be selfish enough to cause the teens the hassle nor the risk of being seen in daylight at such a time- he'd venture to the lair himself, instead; besides he needed time to feel a little more humane, some fresh- well, not really fresh- but some fresh air and company would help with that. Maybe calling them would be a decent idea, a heads up may be useful; I mean- with everything happening, nowadays- you never know what they could be up to. Jones nodded- for once- agreeing with the thoughts that raced throughout his unquiet mind. Clutching his mobile phone within his hand, Jones unlocked the object and scrawled down until he saw Donatello's number. It took a mere two rings until the turtle answered.

"Jones? Long time, no see; what gives me the pleasure of talking to you, today?" Donatello questioned, obviously more than a little dumbfounded to notice who was calling; Jones- himself- appeared a little confused to be calling someone he'd not seen nor heard from in a matter of weeks. However, Donatello was his friend- one of his better and only friends- and he was happy to be having some contact with the outside world, it made him feel a little more humane.

"Don, I need your help." Casey pleaded- trying not to sound too desperate, though somewhat failing with his attempts- his throat dry and difficult to listen to due to how dehydrated he appeared to be.

Damn, he should've noticed all of this: he should've noticed how little he had eaten, he should've noticed how little he had drunk and he should've noticed how little he had been attentive towards those who deserved it. Donatello- of course- heard the dryness of Jones' voice, he had trained medically and he had treated April, Vernon and Casey beforehand: therefore- thinking about it- it was quite impossible for Donatello to miss something so obvious.

"Casey?" Donatello's voice was now one of concern- his tone alternating to one of authoritativeness, ordering the human to tell him whatever was the matter. "What's the matter, are you ok?"

"I'm ok, Donnie; is it ok if I come over? I need your help." Jones paused- drumming his fingers upon the back of the mobile phone- understating that he had just contradicted himself, waiting for the turtle to respond. At this moment, the noise within the background was becoming overwhelming: concerned statements entering Jones' ear, causing him to cringe.

"Friday; are you certain you're ok?" Leonardo added his voice- from somewhere within the distance- the leader somehow being heard amongst all the chatter.

"I'm ok, Leo. I just want to talk, that's all." _And by talk, I mean ask Donatello to help me solve a murder because I'm an insensitive little-_ "Ok. We're not doing anything today, come over."

* * *

Jones had thought about walking to the lair- needing and wanting the exercise- but then the fact the case needed to be solved, as soon as possible had entered his unquiet and unsettled thoughts and had forced him to utilise his vehicle instead. Damn, he cussed himself for being alike this: he understood he was becoming more than overworked but he wanted to solve this case, more than others he had had to solve; he had to protect the children involved, he had made a promise: a promise he couldn't break. He wouldn't allow people to become disappointed in him, no matter what happened he would solve this crime with or without Donatello's assistance. After all, he didn't even know if the turtle was intelligent enough to realise who had committed the murder- nor even lend his scientific opinions towards something so difficult and mind muddling- but Jones would take whatever was given, at this current moment in time. Jones had no idea what else to do, nor whom else to turn to for such support. All other detectives he had asked had little idea of what to think: the evidence that continued to pile was becoming less and less of use and the days continued with no renewed suspects. It was apparent to Jones that he was useless within such a profession. If he still hadn't solved the murder by now, what other use would he be when attempting to solve other cases more unwonted than this?

Jones clutched the wheel within sweat-coated palms- the leather offering a groan- dizziness blurring his vision for about the third time throughout his journey; several times he had had to stop the vehicle in order to correctly view the road and each time he had continued the journey as though nothing had happened.

_Just drive. _

Jones nodded, placing his foot heavier upon the pedals even more so than beforehand- driving faster than he had been- knowing that the sooner he arrived at the lair, the sooner he'd have Donatello's assistance when solving the case; if Donatello didn't help him, he was certain to be known as the worst detective within New York and the crime was likely to be left unsolved. Donatello was above all scientists Jones knew or had worked within when solving homicides- his sweet scientific genius being something he sometimes craved- and Jones was certain that the turtle would offer some decent input. Knowing Donatello, he'd very likely point something out that Jones had stupidly overlooked throughout the past weeks since the case release. If so, Jones would honestly doubt himself when solving further crimes, this was the only crime he'd become mind muddled with but it had taken all things from him: his amount of self-respect he had previously had had diminished, his self-care and the amount of time he had taken in order to ensure his health was correct had diminished and- still- he felt it necessary to beat himself up over not being able to solve this.

He didn't know what else to do but continue his drive to the lair and plead with Donnie to help him, he had no one else that was reliable enough to help: all those he had asked- detectives and the like- had had zero idea of what had happened nor who was responsible for such a heinous crime. It was something that caused intense frustrations within the human. It was something that caused intense, unruly headaches within the human; talking about headaches- throughout his current drive- his previous headache had done nothing but worsen and it was something that made him want to stop his journey and return home in order to rest. However, Jones wasn't one to let others down for the sake of his own comfort and health.

* * *

_Damn, that journey took quite some time longer than expected. _

Jones nodded in agreement with himself, shoving his keys back into his pocket: beginning his search for a manhole cover in order to enter into the lair- a hand wrapped tightly around his bag, protecting the contents from whatever or whoever would like to steal it- the hope of receiving Donatello's help with the case keeping him walking.

* * *

**Chapter II to follow. **


	2. Chapter II

**Authors Notes:**

**Disclaimer: These characters are _not_ my own****, they are distributed by Paramount Pictures under several production companies (including Nickelodeon Movies). No copyright infringement intended, no profit being made.**

**Rated T/M: for hints towards solving homicides(does not go into too much detail), crude language and self-neglect.**

**Based on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows, 2016**

* * *

"Jones?" The voices appeared to be concerned for reasons unknown to Jones. The voices appeared to be becoming louder- and even more irritating than they had been, previously- but he couldn't force himself to answer, he couldn't make his mouth form words. However hard he tried he just continued staring into nothingness- his body unresponsive to all things- wanting to be left untouched by all others. All he wanted was to be left alone-no actually, all he wanted was for this damned case to solve itself, he'd had enough of trying- he'd had enough of the endless responsibilities of being a detective, it was too exhausting. He _needed_ sleep and having such a profession was stopping him from having any sleep at all.

"Friday?" A voice questioned amongst the background, that voice being filled with concern. "What's the matter, can you hear me?" Jones willed himself to answer the voices- his mouth moving, slightly-though nothing came from his mouth, only further concerning whomever was talking.

"Damn, he's _really_ out of it; what's the matter with him?" A- somewhat- irritated voice questioned, a sense of sternness and questioning making him flinch.

"Donatello- my son- is he ill?" Another ordered, a softness evident within their voice; fur entered his field of vision, though it was something he tried to ignore- his eyes shifting from the mass-his lids closing, momentarily. Another collection of masses entered his field of vision and he felt several people coming to sit alongside him, their eyes becoming fixated upon him.

"April, check his temperature. He'll only appear to be hotter if I do so, our body temperatures are too unalike." Another voice ordered, a chorus of fussing accompanying the voice- something that made him feel quite uncomfortable- causing him to fidget within his seat. Jones felt a hand upon his forehead, the hand moving to different areas of skin, including: his forehead and his temples- likely searching for an area of heat- managing to irritate him in several ways, making him slowly shift positions. However- despite him shifting positions- the hand remained where it had been, being even more persistent with its search for heat.

"I doubt he's ill, he's not running a temperature." A female spoke, trying her best to understand what was happening-her voice quiet and relaxed- readjusting the hand to be rested upon his cheek, searching his eyes for symptoms of illness.

"I suppose he's just exhausted. I wouldn't be surprised- considering how hard he's been working, recently- he's been putting work above all else." Someone diagnosed, a comforting hand being placed upon one of his shoulders, keeping him up straight. "It would be better to further examine him though, just in case. In the meantime, I suggest we get him to bed." He felt someone's hands clutching onto his shoulders- holding onto him with a tight hold- forcing him into a standing position before leading him into the direction of what Jones believed was someone's bedroom. Jones forced his legs to work- though, took it quite slow- taking one step at a time with little idea of how his legs weren't letting out, causing him to crumble into a heap. "One step at a time, Friday; that's it, just take your time." Jones supposed whomever was talking was Leonardo; Friday- otherwise, Friday the 13th- was the nickname that he had received upon meeting the teen turtles and it had remained as a nickname even since. He had become accustomed to the nickname throughout the few years he had known the turtles, it was something that had- originally- lightened his days, however- nowadays- he was just used to it and hardly noticed whenever it was said.

Once within the bedroom, Vernon began helping Jones prepare for bed, no one wanting to risk the fact that he may wake if he was uncomfortable.

"Come on, Casey." Vernon whispered, slowly- and hesitantly- helping the younger man take off his jacket and shirt, being careful not to manhandle him. At first, Jones _did_ attempt to resist- especially when Vernon started to remove his jeans, knowing that he would probably be chaffed if he slept in such clothes- but understood the older man wouldn't do anything to hurt him, so allowed him to continue with whatever he was doing: feeling a little embarrassed that he was too tired to even undress himself. Thankfully- however- he was soon undressed, comfortable and placed upon a soothing mattress that supported his body; seconds later, he felt himself being lowered into a lying position- his head coming to rest upon a mound of cotton- a strong hand helping him lie down. When his head hit the mound, Jones immediately succumbed to the call of sleep, not even peeking to see wherever he was.

* * *

**Chapter III to follow. **


	3. Chapter III

**Authors Notes:**

**Disclaimer: These characters are _not_ my own****, they are distributed by Paramount Pictures under several production companies (including Nickelodeon Movies). No copyright infringement intended, no profit being made.**

**Rated T/M: for hints towards solving homicides(does not go into too much detail), crude language and self-neglect.**

**Based on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows, 2016**

* * *

"_Dehydration, undernourishment, exhaustion. Dried skin, sunken eyes and the like are to be expected, considering his dehydration. His blood pressure is a little higher than to be expected but he's- likely- been overworking himself, his new profession has taken a toll on his health. He's lost weight, which is understandable; it's obvious he's not been eating as regularly as he should. Apart from that, I cannot find anything else medically wrong with him." With each line Donatello read, all Leonardo could do was nod- dumbfounded that Jones had allowed his health to decline so significantly for the sake of something so trivial like solving a homicide- knowing that this could've been prevented. Of course, his work was certain to mean a lot to him but putting his health at risk without even consulting anyone for aid was stupid and reckless._

_At least dehydration, undernourishment and exhaustion were easy to amend and this was something the turtles would never allow to happen again, Leonardo would make sure of that. He'd make sure of that because- for unknown reasons- he felt responsible for whatever had happened, he'd not even thought to check up on the human throughout the weeks he'd been unseen. He felt this was- somewhat- his own fault, he should've encouraged Jones to take care of himself, though he hadn't. He hadn't even realised how difficult Jones' circumstances had become since they'd last seen him, he'd just assumed everything was ok. _

"_He will be ok, won't he?" Michelangelo questioned- breaking Leonardo from his endless bouts of self-blame- obviously dumbfounded and concerned, similarly to his brothers. _

"_Yes- of course- he'll be ok, Mikey." Donatello reassured, placing a hand upon his youngest brothers' shoulder- offering him a small smile- being truthful with his words. "He just needs to be rehydrated and re-nourished; I suggest we order him something to eat. Meanwhile, I'll ensure he remains comfortable and start with treatments for his dehydration."_

_Donatello collected his supplies, turning to leave though being stopped by his older brother: Raphael. _

"_Do you- honestly- think he should be allowed to work again?" Raphael ordered- understanding how little Jones had cared for himself- also feeling some sort of self-blame when regarding the circumstances._

"_Not for some time." Donatello agreed. "He'll need a week or so to recover." _

"_Ok, I'll call Vincent and explain the circumstances."_

When Jones eventually awoke at whatever time it was, he felt somewhat relaxed and well rested- apart from the unpleasant headache that continued to ail him- and was surprised to find himself lying within Raphael's bed, a fluid drip inserted into his vein. "What-" Jones whispered- his throat being too dried to let words out- staring at the fluid drip with awe, wondering how he'd managed to get here. He understood he'd needed Donatello's assistance when solving the case and that is why he'd come, how he'd managed to become unclothed and lain within someone's bed was completely beyond him.

_Sit up. _

Jones tried- for once- to obey his thoughts- pushing upon the bed in attempts to become up straight- though a strong hand kept him lain.

"Easy, Friday; there's no need to get up, lie down." An authoritative voice ordered- managing to comfort him- causing him to do as he was told, his head coming to rest upon the now slightly propped up pillows. Still- whatever was happening, he didn't have time for- he needed to solve the homicide: he had all the case files prepared in order to talk to Donatello, this situation was an unnecessary setback. He was desperate to prove himself to others- especially to Vincent: Chief of the NYPD- he was desperate to prove that he was capable of being a decent detective and that he did have skill when solving crimes, that he wasn't just some loser who had an unachievable aspiration.

"Here." Donatello offered, placing a cup to his lips- watching as the human sipped at the water, making noises of satisfaction- finishing the contents, quickly. However- even after he'd finished the water-he still appeared dehydrated and sluggish with his movements, licking his lips with desires for more water. We shouldn't be doing this. Jones shook his head, clutching at the drip within his arm- pulling at it- causing Raphael to collect a hold around his hand, knowing that he'd pull the drip out if given the opportunity.

"Stop it; whether you like it or not _this_ is your own fault, Jones. You should've taken care of yourself. What is the point of work if you're not fit." Raphael huffed, obviously frustrated that the human was still finding ways to resist their help.

"But-"

"Oh, you stupid idiot." Michelangelo snarled, releasing a long sigh, this was becoming irritating. Why couldn't Jones just accept the help they were offering him? He was unwell: dehydrated, undernourished and exhausted and he was still trying to complete his work. Did being a detective- seriously- matter more than his own health?

"I've called Vincent and explained the circumstances, Friday." Jones' eyes became widened- his thoughts become relentless knowing that Vincent would become unimpressed with him because of how he'd been treating himself even since the case release- blinking rapid.

_This can't be happening. _

The sudden look within his eyes brought about an unnerving atmosphere amongst the turtles- no one prepared to see such lack of hope and overwhelming panic within Jones- his body commencing it's trembles, making it appear as though he was seizing.

_They didn't tell her._

Jones- internally- felt as though someone had clutched his mouth with evil intent, his breathing becoming desperate and short: his lips trembled, his eyes pulsating and focused upon nothingness as though everything around had become quiet and empty.

_Not Vincent._

He felt sick understanding that the case would become the responsibility of a different detective, one that wouldn't care for the children involved on levels that he did. He had made a promise: a promise he couldn't break, a promise he'd now have to break. Despite all efforts made to solve the case, they had been in vain and now someone else was have full responsibility over the case; he hadn't cared when consulting others for help but now he was completely shook about giving another detective command over the case.

"She was quite understanding, Friday; there's no need to become panicked, calm down." Jones attempted to get a hold of himself, though the panic that had set in had become tormenting- making his thoughts alive, even more so than before- and all he could think about was how he'd managed to fail.

* * *

Several days had continued and- thankfully- after the turtles had talked to Jones, he had been allowed out of bed and had eaten the food Michelangelo had continued to prepare for him, knowing that he needed his nutrients. Jones had even managed to get himself dressed without help and his headache had managed to become better: his dehydration becoming hydration, his undernourishment becoming nourishment, his exhaustion diminishing. He now felt quite relaxed and well rested- without an unpleasant headache ailing him- and was able to talk to others without becoming distracted by nothingness.

"Feeling better?" Questioned Donatello, eyeing his patient- a questionable look evident within his eyes- not allowing Jones the satisfaction of lying.

_Fine._ Jones sat upon the a chair- sitting alongside the teen turtles- offering them a small smile, something that indicate that he felt fine.

"I'm fine." Jones reassured- the smile soon diminishing from his lips- picking up his knife and fork before playing with the food Michelangelo had prepared for him. Despite feeling physically fine, he couldn't help the guilt revolving around the situation; the turtles should not have had to care for him like they did- he should not have let his health decline so significantly as it had- it wasn't acceptable and he'd made a mess: a mess that could've been avoided.

"Friday?" He heard Leonardo whisper, noticing the solemn look up his friends face- not knowing what was wrong- placing a hand upon his friends shoulder, watching as the human pushed the plate of food from in front of him. "Are you ok? You're not feeling ill, are you?"

_No. I'm not ill, of course I'm not ill._

Jones sighed- pushing himself into a standing position- biting his quivering lip in attempts to remain composed. Closing his eyes- momentarily- he allowed his eyes to focus upon the floor, tears of remorse pricking his eyes. Swallowing- his throat still a little sore- Jones licked his lips before speaking, his tone darkened.

"No. Look, I wanted to apologise. You shouldn't have to care for me when I've been stupid and reckless, it was my own fault." Jones apologised- feeling shame for whatever had happened- back turned from the turtles, April had decided to venture to work when Jones had woken in the morning and therefore it was just he and the teenagers. "I'm sorry for whatever happened, I should've taken care of myself; work _is_ important but not as important as I was making it out to be."

Dead silence.

Donatello opened his mouth to speak, though soon decided otherwise and closed his mouth, as a result; of course, neither turtle was happy with what Jones had done but they'd support either one of their allies no matter what.

"Oh- oh, Jesus- Friday, you don't need to apologise; everything figured itself out." Leonardo said, coming to stand behind the human- hands hovering above his shoulders, not really knowing what to do to reassure him- wanting to reach out and hug him, though not knowing whether or not Jones would appreciate it.

"There's no need to apologise. Vincent even explained she doesn't blame you for whatever happened with the case. It was a difficult homicide to solve, she believes it could go unsolved for years." Michelangelo added, standing alongside his older brother: Leonardo.

"No need to apologise, idiot." Raphael chuckled, causing Jones to laugh- returning to face the turtles- a lone tear rolling down his cheek, a little smirk spreading his lips. "Turtle." Jones bit back in a playful manner.

"Ape!" It took a mere few moments until the duo were roughhousing- alike their normal selves- displaying an unusual form of male bonding, rolling upon the muddied floor. No one- not even Splinter: who had noticed the racket and had exited the Dojo to see whatever was happening- wanted to stop the tussle, knowing that Jones was finally happy and healthy. And- despite having to have a few weeks off- he had managed to keep his job, despite his worries that he wouldn't be able to do so.

_Everything_ was ok.

* * *

**End.**

**I hope you enjoyed. **


End file.
